


a lullaby from wonder woman's radio

by mimizans



Category: Glee
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimizans/pseuds/mimizans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>blaine and santana drink coffee, talk some things out, watch a couple movies, and call each other names. you know. friend stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a lullaby from wonder woman's radio

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this really self-indulgent blaintana friendship fic before the start of season 4. by now it’s been thoroughly jossed (the entire resolution to the story and the lessons learned!! therein would’ve been rendered null and void by tbu.) since i’m not gonna finish it, i figured i might as well share what i did manage to write. my one regret is that i never got to the scene where they dance to “september" in blaine’s bedroom, siiiiigh 3

Blaine wakes up to sounds of the party below, thumping bass and shrieking laughter, his forehead pressed to the tile floor of Tina’s bathroom. His mouth tastes like fruit juice and stomach acid, and the flavor almost makes him vomit again. He tries to lift himself up, but his progress is abruptly halted when his head smacks into the toilet bowl. His foot kicks out reflexively, and suddenly there’s Cape Codder and ice soaking into the leg of his pants. Blaine groans.

“I think you spilled your drink, hobbit,” someone laughs. Blaine looks up.

Santana is standing in the doorway, framed by the dim hallway lights. She’s wearing a leopard print monstrosity that Kurt made a face at as soon as they walked in the door that night, and Blaine almost laughs when he remembers the particular curl of Kurt’s lips. He frowns instead, shaking his head. Blaine’s eyes are bleary, but he focuses on Santana’s thin outline and manages to drag his eyes from her black suede boots to her smirking face.

Santana tilts her head. “I would ask what you were doing up here, but the puke on your mouth sort of gives it away.”

Blaine takes a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have gotten so drunk,” he tells the ceiling. He glances at Santana. “Kurt’s leaving. Did you know that?”

Santana leans against the sink. Her soft black boots are close to Blaine’s head, and he marvels at how tiny her feet are. “Yes,” she says quietly, “I did know that.”

Blaine rolls his head to look up at her. “I’m really sad about it. He bought his plane ticket today, and he was so happy. I wanted to cry, but I smiled and told him how great it was. And it is. Great, I mean.”

“But you’re still sad,” Santana says, glancing down at him, red lips pursed.

“Yes. Very, very, very, very sad. So I did shots with Sugar.” Blaine closes his mouth and feels the dry inside, tastes the stomach acid clinging to his tongue. “And then I threw up,” he adds sheepishly.

Santana wrinkles her nose and extends a hand toward him. “It’s time to get up, Pukey Smurf,” she says. “Your honey’s gonna start wondering where you are, and unless you want me to tell him that you’re lying on a bathroom floor because you’re sad, I’d suggest you remove yourself from the toilet bowl.”

Blaine takes her hand, gingerly maneuvers his head out from under the toilet, and eventually makes it to his feet. He leans on Santana and puts an arm around her shoulder.

“Thank you,” he tells her sincerely, leaning his head against hers.

“You’re welcome,” Santana replies. “Now get out of my face. You smell like disgusting.” She glances at him, her gaze appraising. “Do you need anything? Besides a toothbrush and a replacement brain, I mean. A dark room, tylenol, therapy?”

Blaine thinks for a moment. “Well,” he says slowly, “I did spill my drink.”

Santana stares at him, disbelieving. Then laughter bubbles up from her chest.

\- - -

When Blaine wakes up on Sunday morning, he barely feels human. His skin is too tight, his feet are too big, and every flash of light through glass makes his eyes burn.

His parents aren’t home this weekend (but when are they home, really?), so he draws the blinds in the kitchen. He eats instant oatmeal sitting on a stool at the island, his feet swinging gently. The stools have always felt a little too tall - Blaine fell from one once, when he was little - but this morning he feels like Jack at the top of the beanstalk, light-headed and scared.

He checks his phone as he spoons brown sugar over his oatmeal. There’s a message from Kurt, telling him to take an aspirin and drink plenty of water, signed with a heart, and a message from Santana that reads, “just checking to make sure you didn’t drown in the toilet while you were vomiting up your man pain. still alive and kicking, right?”

Blaine sighs. He hadn’t remembered his run-in with Santana, but now it comes back to him in embarrassing detail. Blaine is an emotional person, he knows that - he had to watch the beginning of The Lion King ten times before he managed to get through Mufasa’s death scene without sobbing at his mother to turn the movie off - but he doesn’t usually spill his guts to girls he barely knows. Santana had been nice though, from what he can recall. She hadn’t even asked him if he or any of his munchkin friends knew how to find the Wizard of Oz, which was what she usually did whenever he spoke to her. 

Blaine’s still embarrassed, though. He vaguely remembers crying on her shoulder, which, wow. Not cool. Blaine is very aware of the fact that he is not at his best when he’s drunk and sloppy, and he would hate to have made Santana uncomfortable. An apology is in order, he thinks, if only to clear his conscience. 

Blaine dials Santana’s number and puts the phone on speaker. The sound of the ringing echoes off the tile and makes his head pound, but he figures it’s better than holding the phone up to his ear.

Santana picks up on the fourth ring. “You’re interrupting my beauty sleep,” she says through a yawn. “This had better be important.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Blaine says. “I could call back later if you wanted?”

Santana huffs. “I’m up now. Anyway, I’m kind of glad to know that you didn’t expire. I was pretty sure you were puking up pieces of your liver last night. It was seriously gross.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Blaine says, wincing. “That’s kinda why I’m calling. I wanted to apologize for unloading on you last night. I was drunk and upset, and I know that’s not an excuse, but I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or anything like that. It was really nice of you to listen. And to, you know, help me walk down the stairs. Thank you so much, Santana.”

Blaine thinks he hears Santana make a gagging noise. “Ugh, you’re making me uncomfortable now,” she says. “How about this: you take me out for coffee and we’ll call it even.”

“Okay, sure,” Blaine answers. Apology coffee he can do. He is so good at apology coffee. “When do you want to meet up? I’m free until seven today, if you’re not busy.”

“I’ll see you at the Lima Bean in an hour,” Santana says decisively, and hangs up before Blaine can reply.

\- - -

Santana is already ensconced in a table and sipping imperiously on an iced tea when Blaine gets there. She catches sight of him and raises her drink in greeting. “Over here, Cole Porter,” she calls.

“Hi, Santana,” he says with a smile, sliding into the seat opposite her.

“You’re looking good for someone with alcohol poisoning,” she says, giving him a once-over.

“Thank you,” Blaine answers with a laugh. “I’m feeling much better than I did last night.”

Santana’s smile is wide. “Oh good!” she exclaims. “So you’re not still an embarrassing mess about your boytoy going to the gay Promised Land and leaving you here in the metaphorical desert?”

“What?” Blaine asks, a little dumbstruck.

“I mean your weird outburst of melancholia last night,” Santana replies, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Wanna talk it out, Kirsten Dunst?”

Blaine flushes. “Santana, I’m fine, really. I don’t want to burden you or anything - ”

Santana holds up a hand in the universal signal for shut the fuck up. “Don’t try to play coy, Anderson. You breathed on me with puke mouth and cried on my dress. You are obligated to tell me what’s up. In fact, you should be honored. I don’t usually do this type of thing, and by ‘this type of thing’ I mean ‘care about other people’s problems,’ but I’m making an exception for you because you’re so weird that I’m kind of sad for you.” She nods sagely. “Oh, and as a side note, I hope you didn’t kiss Hummel’s weird china doll face with your puke mouth. You’ll decrease his collector’s value and Marie Osmond won’t want him anymore.” 

Blaine blinks. He’s not entirely sure what just came out of Santana’s mouth, but he’s pretty sure there was something nice buried in there somewhere. “Thanks?” he says uncertainly.

“You’re welcome,” Santana replies. “I am totally ready to file my nails and pretend to listen. Anyway, the cheerleading team at Louisville has a community service requirement and I’m pretty sure being seen in public with you counts as time served.”

“Well, um,” Blaine says, awkwardly fiddling with the cardboard sleeve on his coffee, “if we’re going to, you know, talk, I’d rather not do it here.”

“Then we’ll take our heart to heart somewhere else,” Santana says, finishing off her drink with a long slurp. “Now get up there and buy me a drink for the road.”

\- - -

They walk down to the park. Santana moves faster than him even in heels, which Blaine finds fascinating. They sit on a wooden bench nestled in the shade of a huge oak tree, and Blaine can hear kids playing on the jungle gym nearby. It’s almost idyllic, and Blaine figures if he’s going to embarrass himself this isn’t the very worst place to do it. At least there’ll be birds singing when he breaks down. 

Santana crosses her legs and takes a long draw on her tea. She looks at Blaine expectantly. “Well?” she prompts. “Spill.”

Blaine wonders, just for a moment, what he’s doing sitting on a bench with a girl he barely knows, about to choke out all of his feelings about his boyfriend going away to college. It’s kind of ridiculous, and little bit pathetic, and doesn’t he have friends he could talk to about this? 

The thing is, he kind of doesn’t. He’s not close with the Warblers anymore; that door was slammed shut when Sebastian threw that slushie in Blaine’s face. And New Directions, as much as he likes them, are still Kurt’s friends. Blaine knows he’s still an outsider, just one of their friend’s boyfriends that they’re nice enough to let hang out sometimes. 

Besides, Kurt is his best friend. When Blaine’s feeling sad or angry or overwhelmed, Kurt is the one he tells, just like Kurt is the one he tells when he’s feeling happy or content or loved. But he can’t tell Kurt about the things he’s feeling now - at least not yet, not when Kurt is giddy with excitement and always barely containing a smile. 

Blaine just really needs a friend right now, and Santana Lopez is going to have to do.

“You already know the basics,” Blaine says, tracing his finger over a knot in the wood of the bench. “I’m not sure how articulate I was last night, but you obviously gathered that Kurt is leaving and I’m sad about it.” Santana shakes the ice in her cup, which he guesses is a confirmation.

“I knew I would be sad when he left,” Blaine continues. “Like, I knew I would text him way too much and ask him about everything that he did that day, and, I don’t know, send him stupid care packages with handwritten letters in them. I knew this would hurt. But I didn’t think it would hurt this much.”

Blaine can feel Santana looking at him, but he keeps his eyes on the dirt at his feet. “He told me once that he would never say goodbye to me, but this feels a lot like goodbye. He’s taking all his things, all of his clothes and his pictures and everything, and putting them in boxes and shipping them across the country, and then he’s getting on a plane.” Blaine shakes his head. “I know that I’m being ridiculous, believe me, I do. This isn’t goodbye, it’s ‘see you later.’ Logically, I know that. It’s just - it’s so hard, and it’s gonna hurt so much…”

“God, he’s not even gone yet and I’m already falling apart,” Blaine says with a choked laugh, wiping at his eyes. “And it’s stupid to bother being sad at all, you know, because of course he’s going. He has to go. Lima isn’t good enough for him. He belongs in New York, with people who are just as smart and brave and interesting as him. He’ll be happier there. I know that.” 

“I’m just gonna miss him so much,” Blaine says, his voice cracking. “I’ve gotten used to him being here, right next to me, or, like, a ten minute drive away. Now he’ll be hours away, in a completely different time zone. What if things don’t work out? What if we’re not as in love as we think we are? What if it’s too much and we break up and I’m miserable for the rest of my life? I have so many questions that I don’t have answers for, and I just…”

Blaine trails off, then looks at Santana with wet eyes. “I just have no idea if I’ll be okay by myself.”

Santana sits quietly, gazing at the sky. Blaine sees that the ice in her drink has melted, turning the tea almost clear. “You know,” she says, “I thought about staying here. For Brittany. She didn’t graduate, and she needs someone to look out for her. It’s always been me doing that. And I thought, if I leave, who’s going to remind her to lock her car so that no one steals her ridiculous time machine? Who’s going to go to her motocross meets and hug her and tell her she did great even if she loses? Who’s going to walk her to class and hold her hand and kiss her goodnight?” 

Santana’s breath hitches, and Blaine realizes that she’s crying. It makes his heart clench up, and even though he knows they’re not there yet - the fact that you’ve puked and cried in front of someone doesn’t make them your friend - he reaches out and puts his hand over hers where it’s resting on her knee.

“I think I need her more than she needs me,” Santana says. “Brittany’s so strong. She’s been there for me through everything. I treated her like crap junior year, and she still loved me. She made me want to be brave, even after what happened last fall.” Santana sighs and puts her other hand on top of Blaine’s. “She’s done so much for me, and been so much for me, and all I can do are these tiny, insignificant things to show her how much I love her. And I thought, wow, I can finally do something big. I can stay with her, even when everyone else leaves.”

Santana smiles, soft and private. “I remember when I tried to tell her. I said, ‘Brittany, I want to stay in Lima with you,’ and she just looked at me and said, ‘Why? Lima is super lame. I bet they have a particle reactor in Louisville that could help with my time machine.’” She laughs and wipes at her eyes. “Like it was the most obvious thing in the world, you know? She wants what’s best for me, and she couldn’t understand why I was thinking of staying. She understood before I did that I’d never be happy if I stayed here, even if I stayed for her.”

“So I decided to go,” Santana sighs. “It’s gonna be hard not to see her every day, but I’ll call her, and text her, and skype her, and visit her when I can. I can handle all of that knowing that one day we’ll get to be together all the time.”

“But how can you know that?” Blaine asks, his voice small. “How do you know that it won’t fall apart?”

Santana turns her steady gaze on Blaine. “We have to be together,” she says. “Nothing else makes sense.”

Blaine is quiet for a moment, just staring at Santana. Then he smiles softly, almost despite himself, and presses a kiss to Santana’s cheek - because hey, he’s already crossed the Awkward Hand-Holding Line, he might as well keep going.

“Whoa, back off, Rock Hudson,” Santana says, shoving at Blaine’s chest, but he’s pretty sure she sits a little bit closer to him after she finishes wiping imaginary spit off of her cheek.

The kids have left the playground empty, and Blaine figures that since they’re already crying on a bench, any pride or decency they might have had is pretty much gone for the day. The only thing to do, really, is to go climb on the monkey bars. Santana only calls him an idiot twice before she saunters over to the jungle gym and schools him. So, okay, they’re friends, Blaine thinks with a smile.

\- - -

The following week, Blaine begs off when his parents go to visit Cooper in L.A. He loves Cooper, he really does, and they’ve been talking a lot since Cooper visited in January, but Blaine’s kind of in a fragile emotional state right now, what with the depression drinking and inappropriate puking and crying on a bench with Santana Lopez, and he’s just not sure if he can handle the natural disaster that is his brother. 

Blaine doesn’t bother to explain all this to his parents. He doesn’t think they’ll take “I’m having a depressive fit because my boyfriend is leaving for college and Cooper’s offensively-phrased but well-meaning platitudes are not going to make me feel better” as a valid reason for skipping out on a family trip, so he just tells them that he’s been feeling kind of sick lately and he’d rather spend a couple of days relaxing and getting ready for the new school year. His father frowns but doesn’t protest, and his mother promises to give Cooper a big hug from Blaine. 

After they leave for the airport on Wednesday morning, Blaine shuffles from his bed to the couch in the family room. Kurt is helping his dad in the shop today, meticulously organizing paperwork that will be in jumbled piles again not two weeks after Kurt leaves. He’s going to come over later, because, duh, Blaine’s parents are out of town, but for right now, Blaine is going to vegetate on the couch and watch Jurassic Park for the 100th time.

Before he can press play, though, his phone buzzes with a text. 

_from Santana:_  
what are you doing and don’t say something embarrassing like “watching tabitha’s salon takeover” 

_from Blaine: _  
Watching jurassic park. I’m having a movie marathon, my parents are out of town visiting my brother__

___from Santana:_  
you’re having a movie marathon by yourself? are you kidding_ _

___from Blaine:_  
Sorry?_ _

___from Santana:_  
yeah you should be. whatever, i’m bored i’m coming over_ _

___from Blaine_  
Wait what???_ _

__Santana doesn’t text him back, but Blaine knows her just well enough to know that she probably isn’t kidding. He sighs, because he had really been looking forward to sitting on the couch in his pajamas and not moving for approximately 7 hours, but he was raised to believe that a guest is a guest, invited or not, so he trudges upstairs to shower and get dressed._ _

__The doorbell rings just as he’s putting the finishing touches on his hair, and when he doesn’t get down the stairs fast enough Santana starts pounding on the door. “Santana, I’m coming,” he calls, hopping down the last three steps and swinging the door open._ _

__Santana, dressed in a peplum bustier printed with cherries, gives him a brilliant smile. “Wow, I’m so proud of you,” she says, brushing past him and into the foyer. “I was 115% sure that I was going to find you sitting on the couch with a box of Krispy Kremes in one hand and a picture of Hummel in the other.”_ _

__Blaine bristles, mostly because it’s almost true. “I didn’t ask you to come over, you know,” he says._ _

__“No, you didn’t,” Santana confirms, “but since I’m pretty much your therapist now I thought I would check on your wellbeing or mental state or whatever.” She wanders into the family room and sinks down onto the couch._ _

__“And I’m incredibly grateful for your concern,” Blaine says as he sit down next to her with a sigh, “but you’re not actually my therapist, you know.”_ _

__Santana glares at him. “Whatever, then I’m your friend or something,” she snaps. “Why are you harping on this, Pee Wee Herman? I thought you would be happy to have company in your time of need.”_ _

__“Okay, okay,” Blaine says, holding his hands up in surrender. “You’re right. I am glad to see you.”_ _

__“Of course you are,” Santana says smugly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you gonna start the movie?” she asks then, tucking her feet up under her legs and leaning toward the screen expectantly._ _

__Blaine hits play on the DVD clicker. “Have you not seen it before or something?” he asks. “You seem pretty excited.”_ _

__Santana waves a dismissive hand as the credits start rolling. “More like I’ve seen it too many times. It’s one of Brittany’s favorite movies. She thinks it’s a documentary, though.”_ _

__“Of course she does,” Blaine says, shaking his head. “By the way, I’ll have you know that I couldn’t watch this movie for months after that debacle of a dino-prom.”_ _

__Santana laughs. “You’re just upset because you had to spend all night looking like a mutated Chia pet,” she says, flicking his hair. “Look at it this way: her other favorite movie is Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, so you might’ve been forced to show up to the prom dressed as A) a cheese fetishist, B) a dog, or C) a were-rabbit. As it is, I think you got off pretty lucky.”_ _

__“No, you don’t understand,” Blaine insists. “I’ve been scarred for life. I even have a recurring nightmare about that prom.”_ _

__“You can’t be serious,” Santana says._ _

__"I’m completely serious," Blaine says. “It starts off just like the real prom did, where I walk in, and then Brittany sees me and makes me wash my hair. As I’m looking at my weird crinkly pseudo-afro Medusa hair in the bathroom mirror, I think, ‘There’s no way this could possibly get any worse.’”_ _

__“Famous last words,” Santana says, shaking her head._ _

__“You have no idea,” Blaine replies darkly. “I walk back into the prom, and I’m looking for Kurt, and I see him… but it’s not Kurt. It’s a raptor. I glance around, and I realize that there aren’t any people at the prom, just dinosaurs wearing clothes. And I think, ‘Oh my god. This is what happens when I don’t wear hair gel. The world ends and everyone becomes dinosaurs.’ And then the Kurt-raptor starts advancing on me, and I can hear its nails clicking against the gym floor, and it gets closer and closer and closer, and right when it raises its claw to slash at me, I wake up.”_ _

__Santana throws her head back and laughs. “Are you telling me that you have a dream where Kurt is a velociraptor?”_ _

__“Well, you were a dilophosaurus,” Blaine says mildly, “which I found rather appropriate.”_ _

__Santana grins. “Are you saying that I spit poison in the faces of hapless, bumbling men and then rip out their throats? Why, Blaine, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me.” She raises one thin eyebrow at him. “And hey, I’m impressed that you remembered the little guy’s name.”_ _

__Blaine shrugs. “I’ve seen the movie a few times,” he says._ _

__“A few?” Santana asks, smirking at him._ _

__“A few hundred,” Blaine corrects, rolling his eyes. “Whatever, it’s my guilty pleasure.”_ _

__“No judgement from this end of the couch,” Santana says. “I’ve watched it with Brittany so many times that I can pretty much recite the whole thing. I mean, the movie is a goldmine for incredibly cheesy dramatic dialogue.”_ _

__“Seriously,” Blaine says, grinning. “I’ve been trying to convince people for years that if they’re not watching it as a comedy, they’re watching it wrong.”_ _

__Santana nods emphatically. “How can anyone watch the end of that movie and not start screaming with laughter? The CGI T-Rex and the banner falling majestically? I mean, come on.”_ _

__“‘You bred raptors?’” Blaine asks, low and dangerous, and Santana laughs brightly. Blaine laughs with her, and by the time they’re both quiet again, he feels something like happiness in the pit of his stomach._ _

__Blaine makes popcorn, and they watch the rest of Jurassic Park, laughing and joking and making fun of how dumb all the characters are. Blaine admits that the scene with the raptors in the kitchen still kind of scares him, and Santana flicks his ear and calls him a wimp, but she jumps in her seat when the raptor pops out at Dr. Sadler._ _

__When the movie ends, Santana rifles through the DVD cabinet and tosses Ghostbusters at Blaine’s head. She explains that she looks to Peter Venkman as an idol, as she too hopes to one day scam her way into a job she doesn’t deserve, accidentally become rich and famous, save New York, and sleep with a 35-year-old Sigourney Weaver._ _

__“Yeah, I can see that,” Blaine says. “You and Venkman do share a total disregard for other members of the human race.”_ _

__“You’re just jealous because you’re like the gay version of Ray Stantz,” Santana says with an indelicate snort._ _

__Blaine is about to argue with her, but then Ray slides down from the ceiling and yells excitedly, “You gotta try this pole!” and Blaine can’t help but laugh along with Santana._ _

__They pass the entire afternoon this way: watching movies and giggling and throwing popcorn at each other. It’s strange, because Blaine isn’t close with anyone in New Directions, and when he’d pictured himself getting close to someone, it definitely hadn’t been Santana. He’s having fun with her, though; she’s making him laugh, and he’s making her laugh, and they have the same taste in movies, which Blaine thinks is a very important quality in a friend. The thought of letting this razor-sharp girl anywhere near his heart scares him, yeah, but he also really likes the idea of having her around._ _

__Blaine knows somewhere in the back of his mind that Kurt is coming over at five, but he loses track of time somewhere between Double Indemnity and Anastasia, so when Kurt pulls up, Blaine and Santana are watching All the President’s Men very intensely. (Especially Santana, because she’s never seen it before. She keeps asking Blaine if they’re ever going to find out what the conspiracy is, not seeming to realize that the movie is based on a true story, not even when Blaine gestures meaningfully at the screen at any mention of the Watergate Hotel.)_ _

__Neither of them hear Kurt come in, and Santana is so wound up that she jumps when he calls out a greeting. “Hi, babe!” Kurt says, his keys jingling as he hangs them on the hook by the wall. “Sorry I’m late, the filing just took so much longer than I’d expected.” He walks into the family room, and Blaine almost laughs when Kurt actually does a double-take when he sees Santana curled up on the couch. “Oh. Hi, Santana,” he says, clearly confused. “What are you - I mean, I didn’t know you were going to be over.”_ _

__Santana rises off the couch, brushing stray kernels of popcorn off of her jeans. “Hi Hummel,” she says. “Please, don’t stop your I Love Lucy reenactment because of me. I’ll just be going.”_ _

__“Oh, okay,” Kurt says, his eyebrows still pinched together. “Wait, you didn’t initiate my boyfriend into your devil cult, did you?” he asks, narrowing his eyes._ _

__“Please,” Santana says, shaking her head. “The dark forces would never accept him. He’s Pollyanna. Plus, he’s so scrawny that he wouldn’t even make a good blood sacrifice.” She shrugs dismissively. “I have absolutely no use for him.”_ _

__“Thanks a lot,” Blaine says, tossing a piece of popcorn at her. “By the way, am I Lucy or Ricky?”_ _

__Santana cocks her hip and looks at him appraisingly. “Well, you’re much more likely to get schwasted on Vitameatavegamin, so I’d say you’re Lucy.”_ _

__Blaine smiles. “Aw, Kurt, that’s means you’re Ricky Ricardo!”_ _

__“Is this what you two did all day?” Kurt asks incredulously, looking between the two of them._ _

__“Oh, whatever, Desi,” Santana says, sweeping past him into the foyer. She turns back to look at Blaine. “We’re finishing this movie. I wanna know how it ends,” she says, and then she’s slamming the door behind her._ _

__“Bye!” Blaine calls._ _

__Kurt sits down on the couch next to him. “Wow, so tell me about your day with Satan,” he says, laughing lightly._ _

__Blaine pouts. “Don’t I get a hello first?” he asks, taking Kurt’s hand and threading their fingers together._ _

__“I said ‘hello’ when I came in,” Kurt says, looking confused. Blaine taps his lips and flutters his lashes. Kurt rolls his eyes and kisses him anyway._ _

__“You taste like butter,” Kurt says, wrinkling his nose._ _

__“Better,” Blaine says. “Artificial butter substitute.”_ _

__“You’re going to die before the age of forty, and I am not going to mourn you,” Kurt says, curling into Blaine’s side. “Now, really, I am dying to know how you ended up spending the day with Lilith.”_ _

__Blaine laughs. “Well, she called this morning and said she was coming over. I didn’t invite her, of course, because this is Santana we’re talking about. She just said she was coming over. I was expecting it to be an ordeal, but I don’t know. It was sort of… fun? We watched like five movies and we ate popcorn, and she only tried to stick my head under the kitchen faucet to wash the gel out once, so… we’re kind of like friends, I guess. Is that weird?”_ _

__Kurt trails his fingers up and down Blaine’s arm. “Well, yeah, it’s Santana, so it’s weird, but it’s not bad. Do what makes you happy, Blaine, and if hanging out with Satan’s spawn makes you happy, then go for it. Just make sure she doesn’t trick you into signing any arcane blood pacts.”_ _

__“Will do,” Blaine says with a laugh, and kisses Kurt softly._ _

__Kurt hums against his lips, then pulls away. “So,” he says, pointing at the television, “what’s happening here?”_ _

__Blaine glances back at the screen. “Oh! Well, Dustin Hoffman and Robert Redford, two intrepid reporters with the Washington Post, are investigating a conspiracy that reaches the highest levels of government,” Blaine says grimly. “And what they find may forever change the way Americans view the presidency.”_ _

__Kurt laughs. “As terribly interesting as that sounds,” he says, whispering against Blaine’s ear, “I think there are some much more interesting things we could be doing.”_ _

__“Oh, I definitely agree,” Blaine says with a smile, snaking his hand around the back of Kurt’s neck and pulling him in_ _


End file.
